Halo
by flecksofpoppy
Summary: Driving through Europe, Heero and Trowa stop for a break and have a conversation resulting in some conclusions drawn about one another. Heero/Trowa.


**Halo**

The song "Halo" is © of Depeche Mode.

He wondered how long the roads on Earth were. At night when they did most of their driving, he would imagine that they ran all the way into space, along the rings of Saturn and out to the colonies. Nodding off in a sort of half-sleep, his thoughts would drift to safe places and occasionally glance up at the black road. You could tell where the most recent battles had been waged from the condition of the paint and tarmac; cracks meant cracks in the fabric of peace. Smooth surfaces meant more hours of traveling, more time to keep his thoughts at rest when his body wouldn't.

Sleep eluded him. Even as a boy, exhausted and spent and starving, he would collapse into his cot and stare at the canvas roof of the tent. Sometimes he could make out rain drops shuddering on top of it when the moon was bright enough, other times he could see insects that were trapped. They flapped their wings and buzzed, and he left them to struggle as long as they didn't come anywhere near him. The last thing he had needed was malaria. He sympathized with their plight sometimes, though.

He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, sighing heavily in resignation. Heero looked tired, and he was glad that it was almost his turn to drive. He preferred to be occupied, and the Wing pilot needed all the rest he could get. Trowa wasn't the one who had self-destructed mere months before, after all.

"You can pull over anywhere," he commented, pulling himself upright from where he had been slouched with his head pillowed against the hard vinyl of the pickup truck's seat. "I'm ready to take the wheel."

"You haven't slept," Heero commented. Coming from anyone else, it would have been an accusation.

"No," he agreed, shrugging. "I don't need to." Somehow the statement sounded condescending and he wondered if the other boy would take it as a challenge. Heero didn't seem like the type who was prone to petty insults though, and Trowa could read people's motives accurately so he didn't dwell on it.

The pickup truck scratched over gravel as Heero pulled it over to the shoulder, cutting the engine. He left the keys dangling in the ignition as he swung his door open and hopped out, slamming it shut. It was strange to hear everything so quiet, and Trowa's own door creaked open as he felt the solid ground under his feet. Dusk had settled a few hours before, and though it was night now, he knelt down to the road.

Placing a palm over the concrete, he could still feel the warmth that the black tarmac had been soaking up all day. The breezes that whistled lazily past him were a little cool for comfort, and he enjoyed the sensation against his hand.

"The ground is still warm," he said from the ground where he was kneeling, directing his voice toward where he thought Heero would be standing on the other side of the truck. "It's going to be even hotter tomorrow, I think."

No response. It wasn't as if he expected one, but he stood up to look around and didn't see Heero anywhere. Raising an eyebrow in slight puzzlement, he got down onto his hands and knees and shot his gaze underneath of their vehicle. There were no scuffed yellow sneakers to be seen.

"Heero?" he asked uncertainly, feeling his body go rigid with trepidation. His hand traveled to his gun without thought; it rested on the weapon that was stuffed into the waistband of his jeans.

As he stood back up, he looked down the road and then as he turned to look the other way he saw a silhouette outlined by starlight a few hundred yards away. Heero was walking away from him at a steady pace, not really moving so quickly as to be escaping anything but quickly enough so that Trowa had to jog to catch up with him.

His legs carried him more quickly than Heero's, and he stopped running to fall into stride beside the other boy. For a moment neither one said anything, and then Trowa spoke up, unnerved at the unexpected display of spontaneity.

"Where are you going?"

Heero stopped suddenly, turning to look at him. "I'm not going anywhere," he sounded annoyed at the question, "I wanted to stretch my legs."

Trowa just looked at him as if he was finally gone, but didn't reply. He wasn't quite sure what to say, and in the back of his mind he was surprised that Heero had told him even that much. The other boy didn't seem too concerned with what Trowa thought though, so maybe it didn't matter to him what he did or didn't do in front of the HeavyArms pilot.

"Oh," came the sluggish, confused reply. Trowa didn't appreciate being confused. "I'll wait for you in the truck." With that, he turned on his heel to begin the walk back to the truck. He knew Heero had to say something else though, and he was waiting for the words as he could feel the blue gaze driving into the back of his head thoughtfully.

"Wait."

He turned around expectantly. Heero had one arm folded behind his back while the other hung sadly at his side, looking limp and useless. Seeing Trowa glance at the arm that he wasn't moving, his eyes narrowed a little and he seemed defensive as he shifted and crossed both arms over his chest. He could tell when he was being evaluated.

"Did you need something?" Trowa asked, meeting Heero's eyes uncertainly. He was acting strangely, most out of the ordinary to the patterns his behavior usually followed. Trowa depended on behavior patterns to understand people, and usually so-called spontaneous actions could be predicted. Heero had a rash side to him that Trowa still had a hard time understanding, and yet his actions seemed to include a foresight that few people possessed. Most of the other Gundam pilots had considered his self-destruction a rash action; Trowa, and perhaps Zechs, had been the only ones who had seen it for what it was.

Trowa wondered if Heero was planning something now, but he didn't seem to be. In fact, he looked quite lost with his arms crossed over his chest and his face trying to mask his thoughts.

"No," he stated efficiently. He abruptly turned around with his back to Trowa and tipped his head back to look back at the sky; the other boy followed his gaze, but all he saw was stars and no answers. Is that what Heero was looking for? Answers?

"Have you ever felt... guilty, Trowa?" he asked quietly.

"No," was the immediate response, though Trowa felt no shame in admitting the truth. He had no fear of judgment because there was jury to pass sentence; his sentence had been passed long ago. Trowa's life couldn't be called a punishment; there wasn't enough substance that would justify anyone calling it that. If his life could be described as anything, he could have described it as being condemned from birth.

"I only feel regret that I couldn't have been better when I needed to be."

"Regret," Heero echoed, shaking his head as if he thought the reply was foolish. "Regret for what?"

"For not being more like you," Trowa replied, his voice growing a little softer. He regretted so many things, but his regret was without bitterness or remorse. Trowa's sense of regret was more that of shame, of emptiness and of inadequacy. For him, regret and remorse were never the same thing.

Heero turned to look at him and Trowa could see surprise in his eyes, and then acceptance.

"You don't want to be like me," he said, though the statement lacked self pity. "I'm a failure."

"Maybe to yourself," he replied, "but you're a soldier, not a savior." How terrible to be Heero Yuy, he mused. To die yet not reach death, to fight yet not reach peace, to sacrifice yet not reach a means to an end, to be perfect yet find imperfection in your actions. Yes, fighting in a war must have been small game to living in the mental space that Heero did.

_You wear guilt_  
_Like shackles on your feet_  
_Like a halo in reverse_  
_I can feel_  
_The discomfort in your seat_  
_And in your head it's worse_

"It doesn't matter," he said, as if accepting his destiny as a heavy burden that he would have to bear alone. "Quid pro quo. My life for the lives that I took. My life for the world that I may have ruined when trying to save it."

"What do you mean?" Trowa asked, a dark premonition blooming in his gut. He didn't like where this was going.

Heero didn't speak for a moment. He seemed like he was alone, and for a moment Trowa wondered if he was still standing in front of the other boy. Trowa didn't seem to exist for the Wing pilot as he looked past him, past the pickup truck, past everything to focus on the expanse of road that they had traveled so far. It extended like a black ribbon over the land to meet the line of dark horizon and disappear into a black pinpoint of lost sight.

"I'm going to give Silvia Noventa the chance to take her revenge," he finally said, turning those unsettling eyes to look harshly at Trowa, judging his reaction. He didn't get one for a moment, just a blank stare. Suddenly there was a flood of green as the iris contracted. Trowa's blood pressure shot up as he processed the words and then re-processed them.

Trowa physically felt his heart leap into his throat and he practically had to swallow to stop the ghostly sensation of something trying to choke him. The information and realization crashed through him again and again, the insanity of the whole thing, the pointlessness of it, the stupidity and foolish chivalry. But then he realized that this wasn't about chivalry, and it wasn't even about guilt.

It was about Heero. So he asked the only question that he could think of, the only proper response he could muster and he felt like the declaration required some sort of reaction.

"What do you want me to do with your body?"

Heero blinked at him, and then shrugged. "Burn it."

He studied him for a moment, his gaze calm though inside he was still reeling. He hadn't quite expected this, though Heero had a tendency to do that to him. In fact, Heero was the only one who was capable of doing that to him.

"You seem confident that she'll pull the trigger," he said, evaluating Heero's expression carefully. His eyes flickered for a moment and then his lips pursed in agitation, coming together to form a flat line of tension. He frowned.

"You seemed confident that you would die that night at the circus," he countered, effectively deflecting Trowa's challenge to his resolution. Trowa just shrugged though, unaffected.

"I was wrong."

"I might be wrong now," he said, "but it is necessary to go and try."

Trowa hesitated, not sure if he should ask the question that was on his lips, poised to come out at any given moment. He had a policy of not prying into other people's thoughts for two reasons. One: he didn't want them trying to pry into his. Two: he didn't have to know and didn't want to know. But strangely, right now, he wanted to know what Heero was thinking.

"Do you want to..." he trailed off as Heero looked at him sharply and doubt crept into his mind again. He pressed on anyway. "Do you want to die?" it came out as a whisper instead of a question.

_There's a pain_  
_A famine in your heart_  
_An aching to be free_  
_Can't you see_  
_All love's luxuries_  
_Are here for you and me_

"We're all going to die eventually. You and I will probably die sooner than most others," Heero replied carefully, choosing his words very precisely. He shifted uncomfortably.

"What is it like?"

"What?"

"To want that," Trowa explained, moving closer to the other boy. "To want death. Not just accept it, but to want it. What is it like?"

"I never said I wanted to die," he said, but he wasn't even convincing himself.

"But you do," the HeavyArms pilot continued, staring at Heero unabashedly, "you want to die. Does living hurt that much?"

"It's not about pain," Heero turned away, his voice harsh, "it's about... it's about the need to end existence. It's about a superfluous life floating here that doesn't belong."

He wasn't resentful or discontent, but needed to maintain a proper balance of what belonged and what did not. War and peace balanced each other. Anger and contentment balanced each other. Love and hatred balanced each other.

Soldiers and death balanced each other, and Heero had never been anything else but just that; a soldier, a fighter, maybe even a savior. It was a title that had been inflicted on him, a title that had stolen away what he might have become. Trowa had never been anything but a soldier, and would have never become anything else. For the first time though, he felt jaded on Heero's behalf. The world certainly wasn't as just and fair as people like Treize and Wufei thought it was capable of being.

"So you're hoping she'll shoot you?" he asked to Heero's rigid back, and received no response. Eventually he turned around and began walking again, brushed right past Trowa and fell into a steady stride towards the pickup truck.

Trowa stood still for a moment, tilted his head back to look at the sky and saw the stars again. He knew there was something else there, something that people marveled at, but he still wasn't sure what it was. He still couldn't see it.

Abandoning the sky, he turned and began to move, catching up to Heero when the other boy was almost all the way to the truck. The Wing pilot heard Trowa behind him, the rustle of fabric and the quiet tread of his feet; he stopped and stiffened.

"I can drive now," Trowa said, thinking that Heero was waiting for him to give the approval to get into the passenger side. As he moved to the driver's side and opened the door though, Heero didn't move. The rapid beeping of the truck that signaled a door was ajar broke into the silence between them and the light from inside the cab fell through the windshield and across Heero's face. He looked like hell.

"No," he said, abandoning his place where he had been standing and coming to lean against the side of the hood where Trowa was.

"I already told you that I didn't need any sleep," Trowa informed him indifferently.

"No," he repeated, shaking his head. "I'm not hoping she'll shoot me. It doesn't matter what I want anyway."

Trowa regarded him pensively, starting as Heero moved forward and slammed the door of the truck shut. The bleeping stopped abruptly and the light shut off. Starlight covered them.

"What do you want?" Trowa asked, curious about the implications of Heero's statement. "You said it doesn't matter, and maybe you're right. But what is it you want?" He wondered what it felt like to want anything; he had thought Heero and himself were similar, but he was finding out how different they really were.

"I'm not sure," the Wing pilot stated honestly, and then quite suddenly took a step towards Trowa and closed the distance between them. "But I think part of it has to do with you."

Trowa swallowed; his mouth had gone dry. "In what way?"

Heero didn't answer, just leaned closer to him until Trowa's back was pressed tightly against the truck. He flattened himself to get away from the other boy, not sure what he was intending to do though he had some idea. It panicked him, and he didn't want it to happen.

"Don't," he growled, suddenly defensive and shivered a little.

"Why?" Heero asked lowly, but moved back a step, looking at Trowa appraisingly.

"I don't need a reason," he said, and closed his entire expression to Heero. His face went blank and his entire body calm and limp; he looked at him as if he was a stranger, and Heero felt a pain work its way into his mind. This hurt in a different more inconsequential way than anything else had; at the same time, it hurt more.

Trowa had turned his back to him, staring hard at a spot of rust on the truck's cab door that Heero had slammed. His body didn't look tense, but Trowa's version of tension was to be passive. He was so rarely incensed however that his only method of defense was to withdraw into himself even more than he already did naturally.

"You asked me what it was like to want to die," Heero said to the silent boy's back. Trowa made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Heero moved towards Trowa again, and he knew that the HeavyArms pilot could hear him drawing close. He swung around to face Heero rigidly, his eyes intense and demanding something, though the object of their focus wasn't quite sure what it was.

"It feels like this," he ground out, and wrapped his arms around Trowa all in one motion, holding him against the truck. He just let his face hover a few inches away from the other boy's, staring at him, studying him, taking in the range of emotions that suddenly flittered through his eyes. They came like unexpected shockwaves, sensations that weren't quite sure how to tread through the maze of Trowa's synapses, getting lost and then finding their way back again.

Heero was barely breathing, his lips close enough to touch the other boy's but not close enough to stay in contact with any movement he made. He had never kissed anyone, and he wasn't sure if he should kiss Trowa or not.

He didn't have to make the decision because Trowa kissed him instead, and he kissed him hard with an unforgiving, experienced mouth. Tenuous actions were abandoned as Trowa reversed their positions, pressing the Wing pilot against the truck with his body and running a hand down his arm.

He broke their lip lock and grabbed Heero's hand without thought, lifting it to his mouth to swallow a finger. His tongue flew over the knuckle, and then he sucked hard, not looking at Heero, just staring at that same rust spot blankly.

Heero reclaimed his hand by force, and Trowa just looked at him dispassionately. "Is that what you want?" he asked. "I can give it to you, if it is."

"It's not," was all he would say, and shifted uncomfortably. Trowa could see that he was hard, and his eyes were blazing, but he held back. His good hand was fisting and unfisting tensely. "Not like this."

Trowa raised an eyebrow, still feeling stirred up about Heero's unexpected advances toward him. "Are you a virgin, Heero?"

"If you mean have I ever had sex," he stated clearly and without shame, looking straight at Trowa without letting his gaze waver, "no. I haven't. I never had time, and I never really thought about it with another person."

"Why now?" Trowa asked, more confused than ever.

"I told you," he sounded frustrated, "it has something to do with you." Trowa felt regretful that he had acted the way that he had. If there was anything he valued, it was Heero's respect. Respect was a dangerous thing; once you had a taste, you could never go back to being treated like dirt and being made ashamed of who you were.

It struck him right then, out in the cold night with warm pavement under his feet, staring at a rust spot in front of Heero's brooding expression, that someone valued him. Heero Yuy valued him. He didn't know why, but he knew that the other boy did.

"You want to touch another human being," he answered Heero, beginning to understand. "You want to touch..."

"You," the Wing pilot finished, looking down. "I want to touch you. I've wanted to touch you."

He scowled at the warm road, both of his hands curled into fists, his hair disheveled as it always was, his shoulders hunching inward and away from Trowa. He didn't seem ashamed or even angry, just malcontent.

"Go ahead," Trowa said, letting his arms drop to his sides, suddenly feeling free. "Do what you want."

Heero looked at him with a dark expression, seeing Trowa's passive stance, arms at his sides and face relaxed. "No," he ground out, and with that turned and walked away.

Trowa blinked, and stood still for a moment, not quite sure of what had just happened. Had Heero just turned him down? After...

He heard the opposite door slam as Heero climbed in the passenger side. He could see him leaning over to start the truck, and the engine roared to life along with the headlights. It sounded very loud in Trowa's ears, and still in a slight daze, he climbed into the driver's seat.

Heero was faced away from him, his head against the door as he began to fall asleep. Trowa studied the back of his head for a moment and felt a twinge of something in his chest that he didn't quite notice; he sighed and turned the wheel to pull back onto the road.

_And when our worlds they fall apart_  
_When the walls come tumbling in_  
_Though we may deserve it_  
_It will be worth it_

He couldn't give Heero what he wanted or needed; only Silvia Noventa could do that. He couldn't be as good, as strong or as useful; but for the moment, he didn't mind quite so much.

For the moment, he felt something akin to joy, because he was valued.

_Bring your chains_  
_Your lips of tragedy_  
_And fall into my arms_

There above the road, Trowa saw heaven stretching over them, and he smiled at its brightness.


End file.
